The Hall of Heroes
by Vayluh Arwen
Summary: ON HOLD. Fable I fic. 'The Arena's first Heroes. Our land's heritage. The Hall of Heroes, you truly deserve to stand amongst them.' Series of one-shots, so far including Farmboy, Whisper, Thunder & Theresa. 'T' for language. Fable c Lionhead studios.
1. Farmboy

_Arena finale under the Hero of Heroes' watchful eyes, and a choice is to be made._

**Farmboy**

Whisper shook her head, trying in vain to calm her panting breaths. No. It couldn't end like this. _No_. Not after all she'd done, all she'd fought for.

The jeering of the crowd echoed through her ears, and she couldn't feel more ashamed, scared, broken. The Arena. It was all she had ever aspired to, since seeing her brother go through it so many years ago, since seeing him _succeed_. But here there was no success. Blood poured from cuts that sliced across her toned body, her heart was fluttering in her chest, bruises made themselves known, deep and throbbing.

"All he has to do is give her one final strike and the Bonus Prize is his!"

Her heart stopped. For a moment, the whole world froze. Then everything came back. Her heart thumped in her stomach and her breathing screamed in her chest. She looked up, her eyes searching out his, no longer caring about the indignity of being on her knees in front of him, her shame of losing against a farmboy like him. There was just him and her, in a circle of bloodstained sand.

"But will he do it? Will he kill Whisper? Or will he throw his victory away?"

She looked at him for a second, and then managed to open her mouth: "Don't... don't do it, Farmboy. _We_... _agreed_. Just... walk... out."

He looked straight back at her, his violet eyes the only thing visible behind his chainmail helm. He hesitated, and then looked at the crowd around him. He could hear their shouts as well as she. They were telling him to do it, get it over with, _kill_ her already! He seemed confused. He looked back down, staring at her.

"We agreed." She reminded him, slowly, quietly, her eyes warily tracing his now loosened grip on his sword, "Let's stop fighting now. You win."

What was he thinking behind that helmet of his? She couldn't tell. She had known they irritated each other, fought constantly at the Guild, such ridiculous competitiveness in both of them. But would he really _kill_ her? Was he even _capable_ of that? And... and for _money_, just _gold_?

She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain the motion caused, "We had a deal, Farm-... _Hero_. Please. Just... walk away."

He cocked his head slightly to one side in that way that he did, thoughtfully. Then he looked away from her, up into the stands.

Whisper followed his gaze. He was looking at Jack. Jack of Blades. The _Hero of Heroes_. Did he value this man's opinion so much? Jack was leaning over the balcony, weight braced on his arms, staring straight at him, unmoving.

_You don't __**need**__ his validation!_ Her mind screamed, _You don't __**need**__ him! Jack of Blades is nothing but a lie - he's not what you think he is! You are a __**true**__ Hero, __**Farmboy**__, __**far**__ better than any opposing you! You __**don't need**__ him!_

The winner will receive a special prize. The _loser_... will have the privilege of _dying_ before you.

No. Don't do it, Farmboy. She had barely the energy to _stand_, let alone fight again. She couldn't defend herself if he tried again.

A tear trickled down her cheek, unheeded. "Matt. Matt. Come on. C'mon, Matt. Please. I can't... I can't fight anymore. I'm done. C'mon."

He cocked his head again. "You never call me Matt." He said, slowly.

His voice was soft, quiet. He never spoke. This was one of the very few times in their time together that he had said more than two words. Whatever had happened to him as a child, back in Oakvale, had left him a sort of voluntary mute.

Except for in his dreams. He screamed loud enough in his dreams.

He knelt down, bringing himself to her level, and rested his blade on her shoulder next to her neck. She felt the slight heat as the blade's lightning augment sparked, ready. His eyes searched out hers. He tested his grip on his Legendary cutlass, the dark green blade shifting slightly on her shoulder.

Whisper shook her head, the cold blade brushing across her neck, and closed her eyes, calming her breathing. She let her heart still. She felt the blade leave her shoulder, and heard the familiar crackle of the augment as he raised his weapon, ready for the kill. Her face remained blank while her heart missed more than a beat. She waited, waited for it all to end, waited for the blow.

But it didn't come.

Whisper opened her eyes. Farmboy stood, his weapon back in the holster on his back, looking at her. Slowly, he held out a hand. She hesitated, frowning, looking back and forth from his face to his outstretched hand. Then she took it. He easily pulled her to her feet, supporting her when white-hot pain split through her wounds, threatening to put her right back down again.

Farmboy noticed, and he frowned slightly. He adjusted his grip, one hand supporting her by a strong hold just below her shoulder, the other hand on her head, brushing her hair, above her ear. She felt heat spread across her, and then a strange tingling, and then prickling, like pins and needles. Whisper flinched, pulling slightly away from him, but he kept his grip firm. The tingles moved, targeting, and she watched with something close to surprise as her wounds started to fade, fresh blood rolling back up her skin and into her flesh, cuts shrinking down and down until there was no sign they were even there.

Whisper watched. Then she glanced up at him, surprised. Farmboy looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, leaning down to her ear, "No Heroes need to die today. C'mon."

He led her back a few steps. The crowd was screaming, yelling in rage and frustration, but he most artfully ignored them, seemingly completely unaware of their presence. He pushed the huge doors open, stepping back to let her go through first, a hand still brushing her shoulder. She walked across the stone floor, numbly, barely noticing as he shut the door behind them and the room fell into silence.

* * *

Whisper shook her head, and then turned. He was still standing by the doors, watching her.

She paused, licking her lip, unconsciously, and then shook her head, "Why."

He gave a slow shrug, "Couldn't leave you there. Couldn't kill you."

"But... _why_."

Farmboy paused, his purpely-blue eyes locked on hers, "You're all I've ever known."

"I... I don't understand."

He shook his head, and she knew he was feeling a spark of frustration: it wasn't that he was ineloquent, it was purely that he wasn't used to saying things like this. "You're... you're all I have. I have Theresa, my sister, I have the Guild Master, Maze... and I have _you_. You... _mean_ something to me. You were there that day, when I was brought to the Guild. You threw me into training." He waited a beat, and then shook his head, "I... could... _never_ kill you, Whisper."

She nodded, slowly. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He paused for a moment, and then shook his head, turning away from her, walking over to the door.

Then he stopped. He waited for a moment, and then turned back to her, "Thankyou."

"What for?"

He paused, looking at her, then shook his head, "For showing me who I really am."

She looked at him for a second. Then she nodded, slowly. Matt returned the gesture. Then he turned, pulled open the door, and left.

* * *

Whisper stayed there, watching the place where he had been, waiting for her brother to come find her, sigh with disappointment, berate her on losing to a farmboy, and then suggest better training, which, right this moment, she couldn't want _less_.

You're all I have. You... _mean_ something to me.

Better training... No. No, that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't know _what_ she wanted.

Whisper slid to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, covering them with a long, strong arm and then resting down her forehead.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *


	2. Whisper

_R__amenloverxtreme's request. When a Hero takes a break from the world, he comes across the face he expected least._

**Whisper**

Sabre straightened up, almost wearily, stretching out his back. Not again. He continued silently up the path he had been following. The woman's voice was high-pitched and loud, and he winced, shaking his head at the noise. The path to Oakvale should remain free from _all_ sorts of disturbances.

"I told you, I haven't got any more! I, I've got nothing of _value_! I've got nothing you could want!"

A bandit toll? In _Oakvale_? Oh no, he didn't think so.

Matt heard one of the men jeer, "Oh, I wouldn't say that, darlin'."

The other laughed. He was nearing them now, close enough to see the one that had spoken had secured a tight grip on the woman's wrist, and she was struggling against him, trying to pull away.

"Come on, dearie. Let's go somewhere... _private_."

"No, please, let _go_ of me!"

The woman was fighting, and, as... _valiant_ as her attempts were, she held nothing to two battle-scarred bandits with only one thing on their minds. The one that Sabre had automatically classed as the leader backhanded her around the face so hard the crack echoed around the forest, followed by the woman's sharp cry. She managed to yank back from his one-handed grip and stumbled backwards until she bumped into something solid.

The woman spun on her heel and then gaped as her eyes followed Sabre's quite substantial frame. He tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at her, thoughtfully. Tears streaked her face and she had a nasty red mark across her cheek. Sabre put a hand on her shoulder, turning her back so she was facing them again, and then stepped forwards to her side.

The bandit leader looked him up and down, "Whatchoo want, maggot."

The Hero raised an eyebrow, genuinely slightly surprised. Then he glanced down at himself. True, he wasn't looking particularly imposing today. Having spent the night at Barrow Fields and knowing the path to Oakvale would only take him a few hours, he had abstained from his usual glittering armour and had instead adopted a simple cotton shirt over a plain pair of trousers. His brown hair was ruffled and had long needed a cut. He hadn't been expecting any trouble.

But a Hero attracted trouble. He should have learnt that by now.

The bandit seemed frustrated by his lack of fear, lack of any emotion at all, "You just listen to me, maggot. Back off. That's _our_ lass there. She's nothing to you. You just pass her over and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened, and you can be on your way."

Sabre raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Amusement sparked inside of him. They thought him stupid. _Worse_ than that, they thought him a _coward_. As if he could be scared of these two pieces of scum before him...

"You really think you're safer off with him, darlin'?" he continued, appealing to the woman now, taking a slow step forwards, "Guy like that'll just kill you on the spot. At least with us you'll get back to your little house unharmed. Well..." he smirked, "Within reason."

After going through Twinblade's camp and seeing the 'entertainment' there, Matt was left with no confusion as to what they meant. He felt anger pulse inside him at the thought. Even after Rose's revelation, even after finding out the Bandit King had, in fact, been _innocent_ of the destruction of his home, he still felt anger burn inside of him at the sight of the bandit skullcap, the bandit bandana, flashbacks of that day, seeing men rush past him as he hid, the day everything burned.

Matt closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them. That was all he needed to control himself, to rid himself of the images. But the anger, he noticed, musingly, stayed. Maybe he could use that. He knew he would have no qualms killing them both on the spot.

"I said back off." The leader repeated, but this time he could hear a touch of uncertainty in his voice. He was unsure. This new mark was looking like something new.

The Hero looked at the bandits for a second, and then back to the woman. Tears poured freely down her face, and she was too scared to speak. No emotion crossed his face, but his mind ticked fast. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took one smooth step in front of her.

The bandit immediately bristled, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, boy."

But the other's eyes followed his solid, six-foot-two frame, "He's lookin' pretty familiar, boss. I'm thinking Hero."

He's _thinking_? Wow, maybe he had more intelligence than he'd given him credit for...

"_Hero_?" the leader grunted, shaking his head, "He's a _worm_."

A smile twitched at Matt's lips. He may not look his usual Hero self. But he still had his skills. The Master Longbow slung over his shoulder glittered, and where the famous Cutlass Bluetane had before taken place on his back holster, now was the Harbinger, another Legendary weapon that he had wrenched from its resting place almost immediately after leaving the Arena.

The Hero didn't touch his weapons. He stood perfectly still, watching the men in front of him with a raised eyebrow. The woman behind him had grabbed his arm, squeezing, hard. He glanced down, and gently but firmly removed the grip. He'd need the manoeuvrability pretty soon, he was thinking.

The bandits were readying themselves, he could tell. Matt drew the Harbinger, slowly, and held it loosely down by his side. He tapped the hilt against his belt, the soft click clearly audible in the silence, daring them. The leader drew his blade, and it was all over with oh so quickly.

* * *

The Hero of Oakvale wandered into the local tavern about an hour later. He had a bandit's balaclava tied around his upper forearm. His wounds were healed but there were still lines of blood streaking his skin that he hadn't managed to get off, and he shot an apologetic glance at the bartender as he took in his battered appearance.

"You alright, Matt?" Tom asked, concernedly.

Matt nodded, absentmindedly. He paused, glancing uneasily around the quite busy pub, ignoring stares, and then moving further inside. He sat down heavily at the bar, placed down a few gold coins and nodded at the barrel behind him. The bartender smiled, well used to his silence by now, and turned, pouring out a beer and then placing it on the table in front of him, "Enjoy."

He nodded and gave a glimmer of a smile, but then his face fell back into his emotionless blank, and he lifted his drink to his lips, taking a long swig. He hunched forwards in his chair, elbows on the bar, head lowered. He kept his eyes on his drink, trying to keep his presence as shadowed as possible, but he knew his anonymity wouldn't last long.

Around ten minutes later, he was proved correct. A group of about five women came in through the door, laughing and chatting, grabbing a table to the right of him, far too close. Sabre winced, his mind providing a rather vicious curse, and hunched lower. But they had noticed him.

"Oh my word." One of the women whispered, excitedly, "That's _Sabre_! Look, that's _Sabre_!"

The table immediately looked up, gazes locked on him. Sabre tensed, reflexively, getting a sudden hit of déjà vu from the _last_ pub that had done this to him. He hadn't been allowed to leave for five hours, plagued constantly by the bar's inhabitants.

"His name is _Matt_." The bartender said, sharply, "And you'll just leave him be, alright, missy?"

The girl blushed, furiously, and immediately lowered her gaze back to her pint. Matt shot Tom a grateful glance, and he smiled, gently, and then returned to his duties.

But, despite the girl's now submissive stance, Sabre knew it wouldn't be long before another picked it up, and then another. He turned back to his drink, hastily, meaning to finish it as soon as he could and just get out of there.

"Still as famous as ever, then, eh?"

* * *

Sabre only just avoided knocking over his beer. He spun round. Whisper stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at him with an expression crossed between hesitation and relief. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, exposing her delicate features, held in place with a violet band, matching her light purple outfit. She'd never been one for heavy armour, always thinking that agility could have one over strength any day. Her trousers were cropped short, exposing her strong legs.

His gaze moved over her without realising he was doing so, and then quickly moved his eyes back up to her face. She was standing perfectly still, awkwardly, her eyes moving over him too. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then his fellow Hero nodded towards his face, "That's new. Token from an admirer?"

He frowned, and then reached up to his cheek. Then he nodded, slowly, feeling the three long scars just below his right eye. Balverine. Travelling through Witchwood, after he left the Arena. He had been sloppy. He was so ravelled up in his own thoughts that he was lucky it hadn't been a _bite_.

He shrugged, uneasily. His eyes moved onto hers, and gave her the question he so wanted to be able to say out loud.

She got it. "I knew you'd show up here eventually. Got myself a bed here and... waited."

Matt looked at her. She was the only one who had ever understood why he spent so long in Oakvale. Everyone else thought that it would surely bring him the most horrific of memories, taunting his waking and sleeping, they couldn't see how he could _stand_ it. But Whisper knew that this place was his home. And he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Whisper was still standing, awkwardly, and he pulled out the stool next to him, nodding at it.

She shook her head, hesitantly, "Could we... maybe..." she angled her head at the door, and then moved her eyes pointedly to the group of girls behind him.

Matt looked at her. He had been aware of the women whispering on ever since Whisper made herself known. He didn't know whether they were talking about the Arena or speculating about Guild business or even just feeling pointless jealousy at him entertaining another women, but the fact that they were making Whisper uncomfortable sent anger and frustration shooting through him. He nodded, firmly, and immediately got to his feet, downing the rest of his drink.

However, if this was supposed to send the girls a message, they seemed to take the wrong one. The sight of him leaving with this woman seemed to be more than one of them could bear, and she got to her feet and quickly made her way over to him, "Sabre! I _have_ to ask - is it true you saved those traders from Twinblade's camp?"

"And he's sent _assassins_ out after him because of it." another added, knowingly.

"I thought that was something to do with the bandits at Knothole Glade?"

"_No_, they weren't _Twinblade's_ men, they were _other_ bandits!"

"I heard he got a personal invitation into Bowerstone North from Lady Grey! I heard she's seeking to make him her suitor!"

A young blonde scoffed, "That woman doesn't have a chance!" she softened her voice, putting a hand on his shoulder, "_Does_ she."

Matt pushed it off, immediately, trying to do so both as gently and firmly as possible. The women had surrounded him now, along with some men, and not even Tom's sharp orders could keep them at bay.

Whisper had hesitated, looking at the people gathered around him, and then shook her head, "I... I should be going. See you, Matt." She moved away as if to leave, but he grabbed her arm, swiftly.

She met his gaze. His eyes pleaded with her.

_Don't go_.

"Hey, Hero." One of the women purred, sliding her hand onto his shoulder, moving directly into his eye line, blocking out his fellow Hero, "You _busy_, later?"

"That's _Whisper_, isn't it? Oh, I saw your fight in the Arena, just _astonishing_. And you _spared_ her. How brave, how _noble_."

He brushed the arm off him, quickly, stopping her. Maybe he would talk about the Arena and what he did. But not to _her_.

He let go of Whisper's arm to ward off another hand, and he felt as she slid out of the crowd.

Matt shook his head impatiently at the nonsensical praises and mindless repetitions of his claims to fame, craning his neck to see where she had gone. All he saw was what appeared to be the whole population of Oakvale, but he saw what he thought was a flash of violet slip out the door.

Sabre made a move forwards, but he couldn't get further than a few steps. He'd never been one good with enclosed spaces, and the noise was suffocating him. He pushed back two with a sweep of his arm, managing another few steps, his mind spinning, his only intention to get back to Whisper, because that look in her eye, that stance, almost weak, almost _humble_, that was something that he both recognised and abhorred. That was something he had seen only once.

In the Arena.

Desperation and frustration burst within him, struggling with hands on shoulders, a small part of him wanting to grab the Harbinger from the holster on his back and slice off any hand that dared to hold him back. He looked around him once last time, and then decided. He shook his head, raised a hand, calling his Will, and snapped his fingers.

Women froze, people stayed stock still, beer stopped halfway through being poured, a dark brown frozen fountain, the whole inn suddenly silent. Sabre brought up a shield, and the crowd surrounding him were all forced back a step. He shook his head, ducked under a few arms, and then strode quickly out of the door.

* * *

Whisper nearly killed him when he appeared out of nowhere beside her. Then her hand relaxed on her weapon, and she became that strange, hesitant blank again, "Hey. Guess you managed to give them the slip, then."

Sabre nodded, slowly.

"Slow time?"

Another nod.

"Good choice. Always was one of your best."

No nod this time. Just a stare. There was a pause, and then he motioned to the left with his head, and, silently, they both fell into step, walking up the grassy path towards the eastern beach. Sabre kept his gaze on the ground, avoiding her eyes just as assiduously as she was avoiding his.

Whisper sighed, softly. He glanced up at her, frowning slightly, his eyes flittering over her face. What's wrong?

She shook her head, slowly, "Still not talking, then."

No reaction. He just looked at her. He didn't know how to reply to that.

She gave a small laugh, "Well. I guess that's kind of obvious. I'm so used to have a one-sided conversation with you that I sometimes forget." Another small frown asked the question, but she shook her head, "Never mind. I just... All these years we've known each other... The only things I know about you are bits and pieces I pick up. From the Guildmaster, from travellers, from careless gossips. But never from you."

I'm sorry. Avo, I'm so... _so sorry_.

They had reached the beach. It was a cold day, the sun hidden behind vague clouds, the wind carrying a prominent chill. Sabre walked up to the old abandoned shack on the shore, and stepped back to let Whisper enter first. They sat down, Sabre overturning a crate near the door and Whisper perching herself on the rackety table.

She paused for a moment, as if thinking about what she was going to say. "You... talked to me in the Arena. Why."

He looked at her. Fear? Adrenaline? Guilt? So many reasons, Whisper. Maybe it was seeing you on your knees, begging me to spare your life, so weak, so vulnerable, so... _wrong_.

He shook his head, hesitantly. She wanted to talk to him. She had waited at Oakvale, actually _waited_ for him, there _had_ to be a reason. Why couldn't she just... _say_ what she _wanted_.

_Why can't __**you**__ just say what you want._ His mind said, pointedly.

He grimaced at the thought, and Whisper noticed. She shook her head, "I... Sorry. I know you don't like speaking. I know how... how that happened. But... I don't get... _why_. I just think... I just think... you're better than that."

Sabre looked at her. Maze or the Guildmaster must have told her about his past. He knew she had sort of guessed pretty early on. He could still remember her mercilessly questioning him about his past that first week, stopping after several unanswered minutes to look at him astutely with a raised eyebrow and say 'Not a talker, are you?'

And now they were back to it again. How to figure out why someone doesn't speak. If this had been at all the situation that one could laugh at it would almost be funny.

It seemed the irony was not wasted on Whisper, either, for she gave a small, grim smile, "Trying to get a mute to tell me why he's a mute... guess I've lost it a bit over the years, eh?"

He echoed the hesitant smile.

"Well. So. I... I better tell you why I'm here."

He settled forwards, alert, eyes fixed on hers, letting her know he was listening.

"I'm leaving Albion."

Sabre's eyes widened. Of anything she could have said, that was what he had expected less. He just sat there, stunned, staring at her.

_You're __**what**__?_

She fidgeted with her sleeve, something that his eyes couldn't fathom but his brain knew was not important as what she was saying. She shook her head, "I'm going to go back to Samarkand, back home. I figure... there's only enough room for _one_ Hero as competitive as we are in Albion. And that's you." She shook her head again, bitterly, eyes on the floor, "You're the better Hero. I think I've always known that, but after the Arena... things were more... clear. It was official. The best Hero won."

Sabre stared at her, frankly horrified. She was joking, wasn't she? She was having him on, wasn't she? This was... this was _wrong_.

He felt emotion flood his face and didn't try to stop it. He'd never been expressive, even before... But now...

Tell her. Just tell her. Open your mouth. Speak. You did it in the Arena, you've spoken to her before, just _do_ it. Come on. Do it now.

Frustration built inside him, moving rapidly into anger, not at her, at _himself_, for not being able to just tell her, just speak, do the one thing that could make her stop, the one thing that could help her. He defeated _Twinblade_! One of the most feared Heroes of all time and he just walked straight into his little nest and defeated him! Little more than a _boy_, barely out of Apprenticeship! He sought out and killed the legendary white balverine! Buried a silver dagger straight into its heart, _destroyed_ it!

But he couldn't say one tiny little word.

Whisper took one look at him and shook her head, "Please. Please, Matt, don't... don't do this. I have to go, I _have_ to leave. It's not just you, I have to leave _everyone_ behind, you, the Guild... even Thunder. _Especially_ Thunder."

_That's what this is about?!_ His mind screamed, _Your damned Hero brother?!_ _**Screw**__ him! __You don't __**need**__ him! __**Stay**__ here! So we fought and I won - so __**what**__?! That means __**nothing**__, Whisper, it was just one little fight! Stay. __**STAY**__!_

Whisper had got to her feet. "So... I just wanted to say goodbye... and... thanks. Thank you. I mean it."

Avo. She was going to leave. She was going to go.

_Stop her! _His brain ordered, urgently, _**Tell**__ her! Tell her __**now**__, before it's too late! NOW!_

Sabre stood. She looked at him, eyes filled with a Hero's caution, and then shook her head, sadly, "Goodbye, Matt."

She turned, slipping out the door and down the short flight of steps.

"Stay."

* * *

Whisper turned to him, her eyes widening.

Sabre moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Stay." He repeated, firmly, putting as much emotion into the word as physically possible, "Please."

_Say yes. Please. __**Please**__, say yes. Say you'll stay. Please._

She hesitated, looking at him, and then shook her head, "I don't understand."

"You're all I've ever known." He paused to watch the recognition flitter through her eyes, and squeezed her shoulder, gently, "Stay."

She just looked at him. Then she shook her head again, "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."

Sabre's violet eyes locked onto her brown ones. His heart fluttered in his chest, too fast, but not like the way it pumped during a fight. No. This was something new.

He wasn't going to convince her. He knew that know. Her damned pride! _His_ damned pride. Her staying would be impossible.

Struck by a sudden bout of inspiration, he grabbed the bag off his back, rifling around inside of it, quickly. Then he found what he was looking for, and pulled it out, showing it to her.

Whisper's eyes moved down. Then back to his. "My brooch." She said, sounding almost surprised.

He nodded. Then he stepped forwards, holding it out.

She took a sharp step back, "You earned that in Orchard Farm. It's yours."

"No." he mirrored her movement, firmly, and then held out the orange badge again. This time she didn't move, and, carefully, he attached it back to the cloth on her shoulder.

Whisper's eyes followed his movements. Then she looked back at him. "Thank you."

He nodded. He hesitated. Then he shook his head and jerked forwards, grabbing her arms. He kissed her, pushing his lips against hers. Quick, sharp, sudden. He let her go just as quickly and backed away. His heart pounded, and she just stood there, stunned.

"Come back."

She frowned, still shocked, "What?"

"One day. Come back."

The Hero hesitated. Then she nodded, slowly, a small soft smile moving onto her face, "Okay. One day. I'll come back. See you. Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Look after the Guild for me."

"Yes."

"And _yourself_."

"I will."

"Goodbye... _Sabre_."

Whisper turned, walking up the beach. She glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a small smile. Then she walked away.

* * *

Sabre stood alone on the sand. The wind moved through his hair, carrying the smell of sea salt, still with that slight chill. He looked at the spot where she had been, thoughtfully. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, slowly, still tasting her. Then he gave a small, lopsided smile, and turned away.

* * *


	3. Thunder

_Sabre has walked into it again, as a Hero so often does, but this fight is something new. The Hero will soon learn why misinterpretation is the cause of so many battles._

**Thunder**

How did he get here. Rain poured down, dripping off his sparkling plate mail armour, and his heart was thumping so hard he could feel it in the sides of his head. Headsman's Hill. Duelling for the hand of a murderer. And there was his opponent.

Thunder shook off his vicious hit, deftly, and charged back with one of his own. His shield smacked Sabre straight in the chest and sent him flying backwards. Sabre recovered just in time to avoid a blow that would easily have cut his head off.

He'd never wanted Lady Grey. Even from the beginning, when he had acted on her demands out of curiosity, courtesy, he had heard something in her voice that had made him uneasy. When he had found out her precious necklace was in Oakvale and she had made a vague threat to 'burn it to the ground', he had raised an eyebrow, showing her his scepticism, and just a touch of danger. She had immediately backed down, playing it off as a figure of speech, a joke, probably finally remembering his legendary background.

Eventually, her niceties had faded and she had cut to the chase - she wanted him to kill Thunder. He didn't want to. Not a chance. Thunder didn't give him a chance to explain. Just told him to meet him here. Headsman's Hill.

Sabre knew Lady Grey had another agenda up her sleeves setting him against his fellow Hero. His suspicions had grown. He didn't trust her. Not one bit.

But he hadn't known just how untrustworthy she was until he had entered the Grey House.

For now, she didn't know he knew. She didn't suspect anything. Yet. And he had gone straight up to Headsman's Hill to tell Thunder, to show him the note.

The Hero hadn't let him get within two metres before throwing in his first strike.

_Thunder... stop... give me a second... just let me __**explain**__!_

Thunder, of course, didn't hear his silent plea, and slashed viciously towards him. Sabre jumped back, dodging it, and then was forced to pull up the Harbinger as a blow came to near to his face. He met the next attempt with a full-on swing, jarring his wrists, but he kept it firm, fiercely.

_Thunder... for God's sake... I know I'm not talking but __**listen**__ to me!_

The Hero threw a bolt of lightning at him and it hit him straight in the chest, throwing him backwards into the fence. Pain burned through where he'd been hit and along his back. He shook his head, dazedly, shaking it off, and managed to roll to one side to avoid another bolt.

He got back to his feet, started again, feeling weary and animated, desperate and ferocious, unwilling and so, so ready. Anger burned through him at this man's mindless obstinacy, not even pausing to ask himself _why_ he was fighting him, only over this one woman - barely a woman, this _witch_ - only for his pride.

Anger pushed him towards the first blow. No longer was he merely defending himself. Now he was attacking, too. He was not going to be arrogant in this. If Thunder kept going the way he was... he would kill him. So now it was kill or be killed. Like it always was for him, like it had been all his life, from his very first human kill - those bandits back at the Guild all those years ago. Crushing beetles and wasps were nothing to taking a human life. But, when that one life was intent on stopping _yours_... it was kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest.

This was going to be a tough one.

Thunder got too close and Sabre threw his hand towards the ground, conjuring a huge wave of fire around him, the wet, muddy grass dried and burnt in the same second, torching his surroundings, throwing the overeager Hero back. Inside his plate armour, Matt winced. He didn't like using fire. He hated fire. Ever since...

No. Don't think about that, not now. Play the game, _Sabre_. You're a Hero. Unbeatable. And he's just your next target.

Sabre drew on his Will and in a rush he was behind him, hacking at the exposed skin on his back, managing to drive in a near-fatal blow before the giant's arm smashed him away, throwing him back a few feet.

Avo, this fight was starting to get to him. They both took a second to heal their wounds, and Sabre knocked back a Will potion.

The two prowled around each other. Matt shook his head, slowly, "Thunder." He forced the word out of his mouth, and, though he knew it was quiet, only just audible over the roar of rain, he tried to put as much into it as he could. "Stop."

Thunder gave a grim smile, "So, the mute farmboy _can_ talk. I am privileged."

"Look."

He reached for his pocket, meaning to bring out the note. Thunder caught the movement and immediately got the wrong idea, throwing a bolt of lightning at his chest. Sabre brought up his shield only long enough to absorb it, not wanting to wane his Will, and then quickly docked an arrow, sending it flying into the small gap between his armour at his neck.

The huge Hero merely growled, grabbing the shaft and ripping it from his flesh. He let out a roar and charged into him, knocking him backwards, and Sabre felt the ground below his feet stop.

* * *

Sabre grabbed hold of the edge of the cliff, reflexively. Rain had slackened the earth and his hand slipped. He grabbed out again, getting a better hold, his heart pounding in his chest, grimacing at the weight on his arms. He couldn't hold on for much longer.

He saw feet stop in front of him and managed to look up into the Hero's eyes. Thunder was looking down on him, panting but triumphant. He tried to stamp down on Sabre's hand but he moved it, sharply, twice. Then his opponent got down on one knee and managed to grab his hand, tearing it away from the wet grass with little resistance.

He held him there for a moment. Both of their eyes locked. Sabre shook his head, slowly, willing him not to do it. His other hand scrambled for a better hold on the slippery mud. He needed to tell him, now, while he was there, listening, but that last attempt, just two words, was far harder than he had let on. And now anger was pumping through him, and that made it even worse. He gritted his teeth, saying nothing, eyes locked on his, thinking quickly.

Thunder let go. Sabre swung out his spare hand and caught hold of Thunder's collar. His boots slipped on the mud. Before either could figure out what had happened, both were falling.

* * *

Sabre rolled his head to one side, letting out a low groan. _That_... _hurt_. He tried to sit upright and almost immediately fell back down onto his back. He settled on rolling over instead, drawing himself up onto all fours. His head spun, his vision blurred, and he felt like a jackhammer was trying to ram its way through his skull. He reached a hand to his back, wobbling on one unstable arm, and realised the fall had actually _dented_ his plate armour. Damn. That'd cost a pretty penny to get straightened out...

He banished the scrambled thoughts from his head, instead concentrating on getting to his feet. He'd just managed to push his weight onto his hands when something struck him viciously in the side, throwing him onto his back.

Sabre winced, and then opened his eyes to see a blade seconds away from cutting a hole straight through his forehead. He rolled, reflexively, hearing metal strike ground, and then rolled again as he heard it lift. Matt stumbled to his feet, his left hand reaching for his Harbinger. He reached again, this time with his right. He glanced over his shoulder, patting down his back, urgently, finding nothing. His eyes widened and he turned back to Thunder.

_Oh... __**shit**__!_

A wall of Will hit him smack in the face, hurling him into the cliff face behind him. Pain split along his back where he'd landed on it less than a minute ago, but he shook it off, forcing himself to his feet. Thunder came at him again and he threw out a fireball to keep him back, conjuring up four ghostly swords as he fought with the blaze.

_Where the hell is my Harbinger?!_

The Will swords were weak and feeble, and only served as a distraction. Sabre found himself stumbling backwards, throwing every spell he knew at him, even going straight to the quick and trying to drain his life essence, force him to stop his advance. Thunder shrugged it all off, moving forwards slowly but determinedly, anger etched onto his face.

"Thunder."

"Shut it, farmboy."

"_Thunder_."

This time he replied with a bolt of lightning that he only just managed to miss, "_Thunder_!" he said again, anger starting to burn through him, "_Think_!"

"Think about _what_, farmboy?!" another bolt, another quick dodge, "Lady Grey required we do combat. Do not disgrace yourself even further."

"_Thunder_, _I. Never. __**Wanted**__ her_!" He growled between gritted teeth, hating every word that he had to _force_ from his throat, his voice low with anger, "You can _have_ her!"

"It's too late for that now."

They had moved into a small cave and Matt's back hit the wall. He glanced at it, quickly, and then turned his attention back to his opponent. He forced up anger, knowing he needed something to accompany the adrenaline, knowing that his pumping heartbeat would not be enough.

Thunder struck out and Sabre disappeared, reappearing behind him, grabbing an arrow from the sheathe on his back and jamming it as hard as he could into the bigger Hero's spine, the place where he had caught him before with his blade. A low yell of anger and pain echoed around the walls and then a circle of lightning threw Sabre off him, smashing him back into unyielding stone, momentarily knocking him senseless.

_Get up_. His mind snarled, viciously, _**Get up**__._

He got up, only to be knocked back down again as Thunder stomped viciously on his bent thigh. He crumpled, pain jolting through him, knowing all too well that if it hadn't been for the armour the bone would have easily shattered.

He was on his back again, hands grabbing onto something sharp as he tried to push himself up a little, and Thunder was standing over him, his giant blade pointed at his throat. Sabre stayed very very still. He looked up at him, violet eyes catching brown.

Thunder shook his head, slowly. "This is for Whisper." He growled.

Sabre's eyes widened. _Whisper_?

Thunder drove the blade into his chest. Matt managed to throw his shield up just in time, but the Hero kept pushing and pushing, and he could feel his shield weakening, flickering as he lost energy, his Will screaming out for release.

_Avo, I can't hold on much longer._ His mind muttered, frantically, _You better goddamned think of something before that guy up there decides he's done screwing with you and goes for the shish kebab. __**Do**__ something._

His shielded hands grabbed onto the blade, trying to yank it away from him, but the Hero was having none of it. Sabre could feel his energy slipping into reserves and he knew his Will couldn't hold out for long. He released the blade, reaching for another arrow, but a booted foot slammed down on his arm, pinning him down. Matt shook his head.

Sabre's hand grabbed out and took hold of the only thing in reach. Then he released his shield.

* * *

With a whirl of strength Sabre slammed the Harbinger into Thunder's sword, smashing it to one side. The giant Hero stumbled, having put all of his weight into the act, and collapsed forwards into the wall, doubling over. Sabre grabbed hold of his back, forcing his knee up into his stomach, hard, the spikes on his plate mail kneecaps forcing deep into the small patch of armour in the Hero's stomach where there was only leather. Matt took a step back, grabbing hold of Thunder's chin and pulling it up to him, and then threw a punch to the side of the head so vicious that he was thrown to the floor.

Sabre shook out his bruised fist and swore violently. Fucking helmet. He moved down and wrenched the offending item of armour off the still downed Hero, hurling it one side before bringing the handle of his Harbinger down hard onto his face. A huge crack announced the breaking of the Hero's nose, and blood immediately spurted, and a low snarl of pain.

Sabre didn't stop, cutting down at the giant's hand, willing him to drop his weapon and snatching it up when he finally did, throwing it to one side. He got on top of him, one heavy boot planted firmly on his chest, the other smashed down onto his right arm, stopping his blade hand. He was trapping him just the same as Thunder had him, blade lowered to his throat, anger sparking in his eyes.

Thunder looked up at him, just as he had. His face was a bloody mess, his nose twisted out of place, his eyes shining slightly where he was too proud to let them water.

"Do it." he said, finally, the words spat out, viciously, "_Do_ it."

Sabre looked at him. He could see the change in his eyes, no matter how the anger clouded it. The huge knock to his pride this one battle had caused him. Sabre had taken a man to whom his pride was everything and reduced him to this. On his back. Blood smearing his face. Waiting for death.

An accomplishment? Debatably. He had finally wiped away his infuriating arrogance, at least. Matt had always thought the supercilious Hero needed to be taken down a peg or two. Always felt sparks of anger at the patronising tone he picked up whenever talking to him. Back in the Guild, back in training, he had fervently hoped that he would be the one to do it. And now... he'd done it. He'd managed it.

Should he be satisfied now? He couldn't say he wasn't _completely_. But... the longer he looked down into the warrior's brown eyes... he was starting to see something else.

"_This is for Whisper."_

He paused at the memory.

_This wasn't about Grey at __**all**__, __**was**__ it._ his mind whispered, almost shocked,_ It was __**never**__ about Grey. It was about __**Whisper**__._

He wondered for a moment what the Hero must think of him. He tried to put himself in his place. Brought up together, fiercely competitive, very close but unwilling to show it, always training _against_ each other instead of _with_ each other. When they graduated nothing changed, always pitting themselves against each other in quests, in the Guild, _outside_ the Guild... everywhere. Sabre had mostly been victorious, but he knew Whisper had got a few over him too. Then there was that damned _Arena_.

And then she came to him, in Oakvale. Practically crawling to him on her hands and knees. So weak, so vulnerable.

So wrong.

Matt shuddered at the thought of it. No wonder Thunder hated him. He hated _himself_. He looked back down again, finally realising why this scene was looking so familiar.

"_We agreed. Let's stop fighting now. You win."_

He let out a low growl of frustration. Would the Arena _never_ leave him?! Would he _never_ be able to find peace with what he had done?!

"_We had a deal, Farm-... __**Hero**__. Please. Just... walk away."_

"_Do_ it!" Thunder repeated, suddenly, his voice a low snarl, "_Do_ it, Farmboy. _Kill_ me!"

Matt looked back down at him. Then he shook his head, slowly. No.

He got off him, shifting his weight gently to avoid hurting him, but keeping his sword pointed at his throat.

Thunder was staring at him, still angry, but hesitation moving through him, "But... why. I wouldn't have spared you, you... _know_ I wouldn't have."

Matt raised an eyebrow. Then he shook his head, and spoke, his voice hoarse: "_This_ is for Whisper."

The Hero just looked at him. Sabre sheathed his weapon, not sure whether Thunder would take advantage of this movement or not, but not caring.

He bent down and picked up Thunder's helmet, dully. He felt no regret doing this. Because, if anything was clear about this particular family of Heroes... he knew one day he'd earn it back.

He turned to leave, and then stopped. He turned back. He rifled through his pockets before finding what he wanted. He caught Thunder's eyes, "Amanda Grey. The _Grey_ House." He dropped the note at his feet, shaking his head, "Figure it out for yourself."

Then, just as he had done in the Arena, Sabre turned his back, and left.


	4. Theresa

_An unusual meeting place breeds unusual conversation. Sabre can only be pulled away from his life as a Hero for one thing. Just one thing._

**Theresa**

Cold was something Matt had had a lot of since he had become a Hero. Darkwood had been cold. _Very_ cold. He'd been in many different caves and caverns that were no summer holidays, either. And not just the outskirts. Oakfield had been a warm, dry little hamlet. Bowerstone was a costal town, and had costal weather - cold and wet, with everything smelling of sea salt. Witchwood was pretty cold, too. Cold and dangerous.

But nothing compared to this.

Sabre tightened his shoulders for a second. The _feel_ of this place was enough to put his teeth on edge. Darkness and death and despair. And... _so_ cold. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his legendary weapon, the Harbinger. Maybe its light would help him here now, against such darkness.

Why had she chosen here. The answer was obvious. No-one came here. No-one _living_, any way. The only person that had been here for the last ten years was him. Him and Amanda.

Matt looked up at the Grey House and shuddered despite himself. Then he continued walking up the hill.

* * *

The door creaked when he pushed it. Of course it did. Had he really expected anything else? The Hero's heart was throbbing. He remembered all too well the first and last time he had set foot in this place. The tick of the grandfather clock. The chime.

And then the undead.

Sabre's sword was still drawn. He couldn't release his caution even for one second in this place. He wanted to call out her name, but, of course, he didn't. He walked further into the house. The floorboards groaned, reminding him unpleasantly of what had, until just a few weeks ago, laid underneath them. Trapped in the basement. Running out of air. Even after death, still caught in that airless tomb. Waiting for her Rhodri to come rescue her.

That poor girl.

In the end, Matt was glad he had trusted Thunder with the information regarding Amanda's death. The Hero had come through. Maybe he thought he owed Sabre one after their fight up on Headsman's Hill, maybe he was just as sickened by Grey's deeds as _he_ was. Whatever the reason, he had gone straight to Bowerstone with the proof that was needed, and proven to the guards once and for all the Mayor's treachery. He had gone to find Lady Grey himself, apparently. Matt had heard that the conversation had been quite... _bloody_. She had tried cajoling him, and then threatening him. Yeah. Like any amount of threats could get through to a Hero like him. Foolish woman. Thunder had driven the witch straight out of town. Just like he had hoped he would.

There was something to be said for a family who could go through humiliation and switch it with a righteous anger. They hadn't come face to face again quite yet, but Matt knew that, when they did, it was probably going to be just as bloody as the conversation with a murderer. Thunder wanted him dead, and, after all he had put him through, he didn't blame him in the slightest.

Something moved behind him.

Matt's instincts kicked in a little too quickly, and it took everything he had to stop his blade when he finally realised who it was.

"Hello, little brother. Long time no see."

* * *

They walked outside. It didn't do the scenery any better, but it was an improvement to that claustrophobic house. The house where a young girl had choked to death.

Matt's eyes moved over his big sister. She seemed older every day. He could still remember the child she had been. Running around. So bright, so innocent, so... _happy_. But they both had done some changing since that day. He couldn't decide who had changed the most. Both had turned into killers. She had lost her eyes, he had lost his voice. Both took on some rather unorthodox company. Maybe they had more in common than either realised.

Theresa was playing with the hem of her silk band, the sash that came down from her eyes. "Thanks for coming."

He looked at her. Had she thought he _wouldn't_? The second he had got that letter he was on his feet, heading for the door. Slinging his pack onto his back, excusing himself from the shop he was standing in. He had a dozen quests running at the moment. They all paled in comparison to seeing his sister again. He would deny the Heroes' Guild _itself_ if she called asking for help.

"They told me about the Arena." She continued, her voice soft, contemplative, "The bandits. Twinblade's men. You know now, don't you. You saw her. Mother. You know what she was."

Matt stared at her. She didn't sound at all surprised.

_She knew_, he realised, shaking his head, slowly, _All this time. She __**knew**__._

"_I've seen you, little brother. In a ring of sand and blood. An Arena full of secrets."_

"And you spared her. Didn't you. They told me you spared the girl's life. Your friend."

He nodded, slowly. He wondered what she was thinking. If she had changed so much as to view him weak because of his sacrifice.

She paused, and then moved her blind face up to his, "And you spared _him_ as well, didn't you. Twinblade. You spared him even after you hated him. Even after you thought he killed me, killed mother, father, everyone we knew. You spared him."

_Yes. Because he didn't do it. __**Did**__ he? Tell me. Tell me he didn't do it. Tell me I haven't let the man who ripped our family to shreds walk free. Tell me._

"He didn't, of course. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, slowly, more relieved than anything. He didn't know what he would have done if she had said otherwise.

Of course, with her blind eyes, Theresa shouldn't have been able to see his agreement. But she nodded herself, "Good. Twinblade is a murderer. He has done many things. But he did not destroy our home."

Matt put a hand on her shoulder, quickly. His eyes bore holes into her face.

_Tell me. __**Tell**__ me._

The girl paused. Then she shook her head, "The Arena. What did it feel like? Having that girl's life in your hands? The young girl, your friend, everyone telling you to kill her, murder her, in cold blood. Of course," she said, when he did not respond, "You won't speak. You won't talk. But that's fine. I just need you to listen."

She paused, leaning forwards onto the fence they were standing at, blind gaze moving over the hell they were frequenting, "The Arena full of secrets... You saw mother for what she was there. And you finally met Jack of Blades."

Jack of Blades. The _Hero of Heroes_. Yes, he had met that manipulating little 'Hero'. He knew where mother was. He had told him that she had survived. Wanted him to tell him where Theresa was, so he could _reunite_ them. Some sort of trap, obviously. But _why_.

She nodded, slowly, "I met him myself long ago, of course. Years." He frowned at her, curiously, and she drew in a slow breath, "When he burned down our home and cut out my eyes."

* * *

It took Sabre a second to realise what she was saying, and when he did, his heart stopped. He stared at her. No. No, _Jack of Blades_? _Jack of Blades _was the one? The one who came to Oakvale that night, the one who -

No. No, that wasn't possible. Having the killer of his father, the man who destroyed all those lives, so close to him and not even knowing it, no, it wasn't possible.

Theresa glanced at him. Searching out his eyes. Wondering how he was taking this.

Her face told him she wasn't lying.

Avo. He had known it was a trap. But _this_...

He had been so close. That close. Right behind him. Watching him fall before his mother's statue in amazement, realisation, pain. Comforting him. Giving him the only words that could have helped him - _she's __**alive**__?_ - and then trying to coax him with empty words and even emptier promises.

Anger built up quickly in Sabre's chest. Anger that he never even knew he was capable of feeling. Anger even hotter than that day, the day after the raid, when he realised what he had to do, realised what his life would be from then on. Anger so hot it burned inside of him.

A hand took hold of his arm. He could barely feel it through his glittering Platemail. Theresa tightened her grip until he could feel her fingers pressing through the armour. Matt managed to tear himself out into the real world. He looked at her.

She shook her head, slowly, urgently, talking slowly so he knew just how important what she was saying was: "But he wasn't lying when he said he knew where mother was. She's in Bargate Prison. He's kept her there ever since the night of the raid."

_**Kept**__ her_? His mind repeated, ferociously, _**Kept **__**her**__?! Like some damned __**pet**__, like, like a... __**ornament**__?_

Why. Why is he keeping her there. Tell me, Theresa.

She knew what he wanted: "She's the only one who knows how to reach the Sword. You did read the book I sent, didn't you? The Sword is everything. And it could turn the world to nothing. Jack knows this. He will keep her until she breaks."

But she wouldn't. Not his mother. She'd always been so strong, so stubborn. He didn't know how he hadn't guessed she was a Hero in the _first_ place. It had been a full decade and more since the raid. And she still hadn't broken. Matt felt a flood of warmth and pain. And determination. He would get her out. If it was the last thing he did, he would free her from that jail.

He put his hands back on his sister's shoulders. What do I have to do.

"You have to get mother out." She said, firmly, not needing a voice to know what he wanted, "You have to save her."

I will. But _how_.

"I've tried. I have. I haven't been able to get inside. But the Archaeologist knows of an ancient secret passage." He frowned, and she picked up on it, "Yes, you've met him already, haven't you? Jack's creatures are still after him, just like they're after me."

_Jack's_ creatures?

Theresa moved away a little, walking down the 'garden'. She stopped at the other side, facing towards Barrow Fields. She shook her head, slowly, "I can't stay here much longer. I've left the details in a Quest card at the Guild."

Matt frowned at her, quickly. It had been so long, they barely knew each other anymore. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to talk.

But he couldn't, and neither could she. The fates seemed to conspire against people like them.

She sensed his frustration, his need, and smiled, wryly, "We're quite a pair, aren't we. I can't see and you won't talk. And both from the very same day." The irony wasn't lost on him either. Pain and anger and uncertainty split through him. She turned to him and reached out, brushing a finger slowly over his lips, "Jack took more than my eyes, it seems."

_This was my fault, my choice._ He replied, firmly, _But I will not let that monster take any more from us. I will find mother. I will free her._

She nodded, "I know you will. She has a gift for you, too. When you see her. More power than you can imagine."

_I only want the power to avenge our family_.

"Then that you will have." Her head moved to the side, "I must go. They still hunt me. I am not safe here. I am not safe _any_where."

_I would protect you._

"With your life, I know. But maybe our lives are something worth preserving. You will need your strength where you go." She started towards the path. Then she hesitated. She glanced back at him, "He sees you when you're sleeping, and when the daylight fades." They looked at each other. Her tongue moved over her bottom lip, unconsciously. "Stay safe, little brother. The night is coming."

* * *

Matt stayed in the Grey House for longer than he had ever done, and perhaps ever _should_ have done. His thoughts were scattered, confused, his attention nowhere near where it should be. He was aware that, if anything were to attack - and in a place like this, it was more than likely - he would be able to do little to defend himself. He didn't care.

_Jack of Blades __**killed**__ his __**family**_. His _home_. He was the one, all along. The _Hero of Heroes_. How far a man could fall. Jack must have been good once. Sabre knew better than anyone that the Guild quite often bred murderers, killers, but _this_... this was something else. He was a _monster_. A monster that could cut out the eyes of a child, a young, innocent girl, and not feel a thing.

He had to kill him. He _needed_ to kill him. Matt had never felt bloodlust so strongly before. It was a feeling that both compelled him and sickened him. He _had to kill him_.

The Archaeologist. Bargate Prison. His mother had spent far too long in darkness. He would set her free.

But he would have to be cautious. He would have to go there free of this blind rage. He would have to channel it, to see it anew, to shape it into intense, cold determination, as he had done all those years ago. He would need some time.

And, whatever he said, whatever he felt, Matt knew he had other commitments. Albion needed him. His heart ached for him to go, now, screw everything else. But Scarlet Robe had survived ten years. And there were other people in Albion who needed his help, people in need. This new 'Quest' would need his entire attention.

Yes. He would finish what he had on hand. He would help those he could. And, when he was done, he would seek out the Archaeologist yet again. Find him. Find out what he knew about this secret passage. Find out how to get into Bargate Prison. Find Scarlet Robe.

Scarlet Robe. A Hero's name. A Hero's tag. The Heroic blood that pumped through her veins. Heroes would stay strong. They would keep going, no matter what was thrown in their path. They were meant to be the best, to be the strongest of their kind, to endure anything and everything.

Matt paused for a long time, and then strode back down the winding path with a new purpose.

_Stay strong, Scarlet Robe._


End file.
